


There's No Dress Code for the TARDIS

by a-cumberbatch-of-cookies (tishy19)



Category: Doctor Who, Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Gen, Tumblr, Wholock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-18
Updated: 2013-02-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 17:50:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,152
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/689763
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tishy19/pseuds/a-cumberbatch-of-cookies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dull day is made interesting with a visit from the Doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	There's No Dress Code for the TARDIS

**Author's Note:**

> Based off a post on tumblr [http://riverthestral.tumblr.com/post/15223310588/put-your-trousers-on].

“Dull,” Sherlock muttered to himself as he moved through the flat labeled 221b on Baker Street. The soft thud of his steps and the gentle ruffle of the sheet wrapped around his body were the only sounds to greet his ears as he entered the kitchen. Sherlock’s keen eyes surveyed the tabletop and counters quickly, and he was pleased to see a still steaming half-full pot of coffee sitting on the counter. He could always count on John to think of his flatmate, even in the morning when the doctor was busy readying himself for work.

Snaking one arm out of the sheet, Sherlock’s long limb more then easily stretched up to a shelf and grabbed a cup. Just as he placed the mug on the counter and took the coffee pot in hand, there came a knock on the door. Sherlock did hear it, of course he heard it, he just ignored it. Besides, Mrs Hudson needed something to do with her day. If she wasn’t kept busy, she might come up with all kinds of ideas of trouble to get into, most troublesome of all, visiting Sherlock.

But after a short pause, the knocking continued. Pulling the coffee mug away from his lips, he tilted his head and waited. Nothing. No creaking of a chair, no shuffling of feet, no sing-song “Coming,” rose from 221a to meet his waiting ears.

And the knocking continued.

By now, Sherlock really should of been annoyed. He should have placed his mug on the counter, possibly a little to hard causing a bit of its contents to slosh over the rim. He should of pulled the sheet tightly around himself and made his way quickly down the stairs to the front door. And lastly, he should have grabbed the door handle and roughly pulled the door open with an angry “Yes?!”

Yes, he should. But he didn’t. Instead, Sherlock simply continued sipping his coffee and moved to his chair in the sitting room. John had left the morning paper on the table next to his chair and Sherlock exchanged it for his coffee cup. However, the rustling of the paper did nothing to replace the continued knocking at the front door.

Scanning the major headlines at first, a few keywords popping out at him like ‘murder,’ ‘mystery,’ and ‘unsolved,’ Sherlock didn’t notice that after a few minutes the knocking did stop, but a soft noise was heard quickly afterwards, and downstairs the front door slowly swung open. Sherlock also missed the soft creaks as a lone figure moved up the staircase.

This is all why it came to a complete shock to Sherlock that as he lowered the newspaper to reach for his coffee cup he saw a man standing in the middle of the room, twisting his head left and right, looking all around the flat.

“Oh, this is all very nice!” the stranger said as a smile spread across his face. His eyes stopped on the large skull hanging from the wall to Sherlock’s left. “That’s brilliant!”

“Yes…,” Sherlock said slowly, his eyes narrowing in on the man. Appearance: Bowtie, blazer, bracers, button up shirt, slacks, short hair, parted to the left, child-like face and stance. Demeanor: Strange accent, can’t quite place it; easily distracted, doesn’t seem to focus on any one thing for too long; has no qualms with entering the flat uninvited.

The man continued to smile at Sherlock, hands stuffed into his trouser pockets. He rocked back on his heels and raised his eyebrows, “Well?”

Sherlock’s gaze cut to the side quickly, taking in every possible weapon within arms reach and the probability of its damage on the stranger. He settled on the fire poker in front of the hearth. “Well what?”

Though he wouldn’t have thought it possible, the man’s grin widened even further. He pulled his hands from his pockets and clapped them together, “We should be off! There’s so much to see! Of course it’s up to you, but I do have a few favorites if you can’t pick.” The man finally took a good look at Sherlock’s current state of semi-undress, seemed to puzzle on it for a moment, but gave a shrug of his shoulders to no one in particular and took a few steps back towards the door.

Sherlock suddenly felt like he fully understood how John must feel all the time; complete and utter confusion. “I’m sorry?” he asked as he sat up straighter in his chair, the idea of the fire poker fading away slowly as his interest centered on the visitor.

“Well I couldn’t really land the TARDIS in here,” the man replied, his arms motioning to the flat. “It’s outside, just around the corner. Should be safe, but I think that every time before someone nicks it.” With that, the bowtied man turned fully and stepped through the doorway and quickly moved down the stairs.

Sherlock was up out of his chair instantly, pulling the sheet tight to his shoulders and called after the man, “What on earth are you on about?” He made it to the door in time to see the man disappear around the first turn on the stairs, and as Sherlock made it to the landing, he caught just a glimpse of the man’s leg as it moved past the front door.

Sherlock was greeted by the loud noises of London, as well as quite a few confused looks, as he stepped out of 221 Baker Street. It didn’t take long for him to zero in on the biggest change to the street; a large blue police booth now stood just to the right of 221’s staircase. The man with the bowtie was leaning casually against the front of the box, smiling at anyone who passed by him.

“The TARDIS?” Sherlock asked as he cocked an eyebrow at the stranger. “Looks like an old callbox.”

This caused the man’s smile to disappear as he took a step back and peered at the box. “Old?” He shook his head and turned to Sherlock. “No, not old. Just well traveled.”

“Traveled? From where? The 1920s?”

Sherlock’s joke caused the man to let out a loud laugh. “At some point, probably, yes. But there are far more interesting places to see.” With that, the man pushed the door of the policebox open and bounded inside.

Sherlock paused for a moment. This was one of those times John was always yelling at him for. A moment when he should stop and weigh the consequences of his action. Was he about to bring even more trouble to the boys of 221b? Could this be dangerous? Was he about to get in over his head? Should he call John? Or simply turn on his heels and head back inside the flat?

Probably yes, to all of it.

And then Sherlock stepped into the policebox and the door swung shut behind him.


End file.
